Milk
by Hermonthis
Summary: PWP. Starling/Repton. “She makes it so easy for him to lose control.”


**A/N:** PWP, for those who may not know means: _Plot? What Plot?_ or _Porn Without Plot_. Don't think about it too hard, dear readers, there isn't much substance. Title (and story) inspired by Garbage's song of the same name.

**Prompt:** (for LJ's 78tarot community) Ten of Wands. Burden. Heavy duties, and a stressful and hard-working life. Reversed: you may be taken advantage of; subversion, hidden enemies.

* * *

**M I L K**

The clank of the chains echoed loudly in the holding bay as Repton lowered the metal cage down to the ground. Inside, the last of the Interceptors remained still and unbound as she knelt on the floor of her suspended prison, and kept her head down in a mock parody of captivity.

"Get up," he hissed venomously, his red tongue flickering out as he made to haul her up to her feet. She allowed him to touch her, she could have stood up herself, and knowing the human didn't object to his cool, dry touch disconcerted him.

She didn't run when he bound her hands and ankles, merely listened to the clatter of the engine as her gilded cage was mechanically lifted off the ground. It was routine to her.

"You're taking a shower."

She was fine by that.

Repton disliked crowds so they took many corners to get to the stalls in one of the lesser known areas of the Talon headquarters. Privacy was a commodity he adored, an indulgence to get away from his less intelligent nest brothers. They made it to the changing room without incident.

"Take off your clothes."

She obliged.

The human woman was quick to discharge her clothes. One moment she was facing the changing stall, her back towards him, as he turned his head to the side without lowering his chin. He caught her form in the mirror and blinked. She was white all over. She was a glowing silhouette of soft and silky skin. Link another moment and all her smoothness was covered with a thin yellow towel.

"Follow me."

She walked in his shadow, too close for comfort as he led the way to the washing area. The tiles were a faded blue, and in the corner there was a semi-private secluded shower that he would never allow her to use. By the steady pace of her feet, by her even breaths, Starling was far from being spiritually and mentally broken.

He wanted to tell her 'wash up' as his tail slapped against the cool floor; but once again, she both predicted and exceeded any expectations by treading past him, her chin slightly raised and jutting out, and stood underneath the middle shower head. Facing the wall, she removed the towel and dropped it to the side in one smooth motion.

Give him the stubbornness and straight-laced talk of the Rex Guardians anyday. Tell him to hunt down the teenage Storm Hawks and return to Cyclonia with their carcasses in tow. But Starling always bested him. Always. Not even the death of her squadron could make her lose her composure. It had only driven her thirst to exact her revenge even more. Cold, calculating, unpredictable.

He almost liked that about her. She exhibited the traits that he did not.

She winced a bit as the cold shower spray hit her full force, and her bare feet crept back an inch or two to accommodate the temporary pain. Taking in every drop, she raised her face to the spray and parted her lips to wet her parched mouth. Every three minutes the water automatically shut off, so every three minutes a pale hand adorned with sparkling water droplets pressed the button again. She showered with the faint but distinct perfume of vanilla in the air.

Impatience got the better of him. He growled and whipped his tail menacingly. "Hurry it up."

If she was fast to remove her clothes, she purposely took her time putting them back on. He stood at the doorway, a bodyguard slash captive audience to her slow seductive style of dressing. His foresight did not include a pair of clean underwear and while her brassiere was still serviceable, her panties obviously were not.

With expertise, she pressed the padded cups to her white breasts; her dark nipples hardened with the cold, and slid the straps over her thin shoulders. Reaching around, she aligned the hook and eye with a small arch of her back.

Repton's cock hardened in approval.

It was a peep show that his mother always warned him about; the five-cent corner stores with flashing neon bulbs that advertised hidden wares inside. She is little more than a pretty bird hanging in a rusted cage, and yet he can feel her invisible fingers wrap around his throat, squeezing his breath one centimeter at a time.

The human propped her right leg on the edge of the wooden bench, the corners of the seat bolted to the floor, and her personal guard tried not to stare at the tuft of dark hair between her thighs. She wore only two layers of clothes, something Repton always thought odd when it came to the warm flesh of pliable bodies.

The heel of her boot bumped against the seat as she slid the supple leather over her knees and thighs. When she was done, she picked up the wet towel in one hand and dropped it into a bin. Let someone else pick up after her, she only did as she was told.

Starling stood in front of Repton, and the whiteness of her skin brought out the gleam of triumph in her eyes.


End file.
